


AB IMO PECTORE

by takenbynumbers



Series: We Are Chaos [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Anal Sex, Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Dirge of Cerberus (Compilation of FFVII)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28187550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takenbynumbers/pseuds/takenbynumbers
Summary: Ab Imo Pectore: from the bottom of the heart. Veld takes Vincent apart.
Relationships: Vincent Valentine/Veld
Series: We Are Chaos [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007004
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	AB IMO PECTORE

Vincent watches the flex of Veld's arms through his shirt, stretched over his muscles. He wonders (not for the first time) if it’s deliberate- always wearing button downs a size too small, even decades later. The tension of fabric rolled up a tan forearm, tendons and veins prominent. 

If everything is very still around him, he can hear Veld's heartbeat. 

Finally, he lowers his book, looking at Vincent curiously. "What? Something on my face?" And he wants to tell Veld  _ yes  _ \- the scarring, age lines, the grey hairs interspersed with cinnamon brown hair- all of it. Literal decades have passed since he had set eyes upon his old partner once more, but he still stirs up old feelings. Deeper than the ones they're still working through - the bitterness, regrets,  _ anger _ . Enough guilt to be its own WEAPON. But this - this more resembles something calmer. Tinged with need.

_ Lust _ . 

"Nothing. I was just…"

Despite all the arguing, they've drifted back to mostly how they were. Working together when Reeve isn't sending Vincent out in the field, drinking coffee together, spending more and more time at Veld's apartment rather than just at the office. And they've addressed it in the same manner Veld addresses everything - acknowledgement before moving onto the next point. 

"Out with it. I know you got somethin’ to say. You ain’t  _ that _ silent and mysterious." 

Vincent chuckles low. "Sometimes I wonder why you choose to stick around me."

The book is put aside as Veld leans forward in the armchair. The shirt pulls against his pectoral muscles, still rather firm even with the passing of time. And he's already watched Veld work out, voyeuristically. Knows he's been increasing his time at the gym after he's given up smoking.

_ (That happened about a week after they set eyes upon one another in the WRO headquarters. Vincent kept noticing Veld lashing out at everyone until Reeve told him that he’d quit smoking seemingly overnight.)  _

"Choose to...fuck, Vincent. You know how I feel. How else can I make up for lost time."

It's not a night for one of their arguments, though the outcome is always Veld falling asleep in Vincent’s arms, exhausted and unsatisfied. They used to argue about techniques. Now it's about the past.

One past argument comes to mind, and Vincent shudders at the memory - a glimpse of his temper during his Turk days. A nasty fight over nothing of importance that led to him biting Veld's shoulder as he fucked him, until the wound bled into his mouth. It's the intimacy he wishes they had again - unbridled trust in one anther. Vincent knows Veld trusts him. They just haven't...been together. Not properly. Not like how they were. Too many scars, fears of  _ unintentionally  _ hurting Veld…

"Do you want to go to bed?"

Veld glances at the clock on the wall. "It's way too early. Why do-"

Vincent clears his throat and stands up before he changes his mind. He's been mulling it over for months. On and off, mostly in the middle of the night as he gazes down at Veld. Galian likens Veld to a mate, and that pulsating need to  _ breed _ is in the background, growing stronger every day.

"Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Are you sure? I mean...we haven't really talked about it like...that...but you know…" Veld has always been awkward about expressing sexual needs outside the bedroom - an old habit from a bygone era. And Vincent used to be the same, until he...died. It put some things in perspective. And he knows Veld still occasionally masturbates - he can smell it. They just never speak about it. It’s always after they’ve been laying in bed, or on the couch, kissing until Veld ‘excuses’ himself for ten minutes and comes back, face flushed and looking sheepish.

"Yes. I think… I'm ready." 

_ (A few weeks ago, they had sat down with the files salvaged from the mansion. And together, with Veld's help, catalogued all his scars. It had taken longer- differentiating between old Turk ones and Hojo's madness. Vincent had left the room a number of times, refusing to come back until Veld talked him through it. He never let Veld do anything more than trace over his old ones - the ones Veld had patched up. Once, he would have kissed them as he undressed him. Now? Vincent couldn't bear to see pity in his eyes. And it had taken hours before Vincent could no longer see pity and Veld no longer touched him quite so tentatively.) _

Veld’s eyes flash with something dark, watching his movements. And he smells the change in the air, the way the beast within raises up on haunches, interest piqued. Now was not the time, but perhaps one day. If this goes well and Veld is open to the idea. Part of him was  _ very _ open to the idea.    
  


He turns and walks into the bedroom, the floorboards turning to soft carpet under his bare feet. He’ll never get sick of the texture of  _ carpet _ \- fixating on the sensation against his skin. Like Veld’s scruff against his face when they kiss - grating and soft at the same time in different areas, sending chills through his scalp, right through the hair follicles and down the back of his neck.

There’s apprehension, as he sits down on the edge of the bed, and he worries his lower lip between his teeth. It’s not like they’re doing anything new. But it feels new, to be doing something like that in a body that never quite felt like his own. 

“Vincent?”

Veld pulls him from his reverie and he looks up at him. Time only seems to enhance the qualities he’s always loved about Veld, and added a few new ones. Like patience. Vincent leans back on his hands as Veld approaches, standing between his legs, looking down at him with an unreadable expression. “Can I help you?” Vincent murmurs, and Veld’s expression breaks into a grin.

“Fuckin’ smart ass. Lie back.”

In the comfort of Veld’s home - their home now - he still wears more clothes than he needs to. Even in bed, holding Veld close, he prefers a long sleeved shirt and sweatpants, his left hand forever tucked under his own pillow - terrified of accidentally tearing a hole in Veld’s skin. Now, he falls back against the bed, keeping his left arm outstretched as Veld climbs over him, straddling his hips with a familiar, comforting weight.

“Hello,” Vincent murmurs, running his hand over Veld’s thigh, feeling the firm muscles, the way Veld’s eyes narrow at the touch, his arousal visibly swelling between his legs through his sweatpants. 

"Hey. Come here often?" Vincent watches as Veld shifts back, fingers touching the waistband of Vincent's pants, tugging lightly.

"No, but I'm hoping to change that," Vincent responds drolly, causing Veld to laugh and move off him, tugging the waistband down further. Vincent lifts his hips - more comfortable with his lower half being exposed than his top half. The scarring is less, and he knows Veld has  _ always  _ loved his cock. As evident by his sharp inhale at the sight. Vincent smirks and reaches down with his left hand, the cool, sharp metal in contrast to Veld's warm hand on his thigh. The juxtaposition makes him hiss, and his head tips back against the bed, eyes closing in pleasure as he gently traces his length with the tip of his index finger. 

He doesn’t even notice when the bed moves with the change in weight, and Veld settles between his legs. A warm tongue delves between the metal and laves against his cock, and Vincent looks down, eyes heavy. Veld just flashes him a smile, and Vincent’s other hand comes to card through his hair gently. He moves his left hand, and settles back, his body unwinding under Veld’s ministrations, watching as Veld sits up and pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside. His sweatpants come off, and he admires how Veld looks - tanned, wholly masculine and  _ his _ . 

“Been thinkin’ about this for a while…” Veld grabs a small bottle from the top drawer in the bedside table and Vincent  _ knows _ where this is going, and he gives him a small smile, spreading his legs more.   
  
Two fingers, slick with lube, gently ease into him. It’s easier to take, enhanced as he is, but not as pleasurable as it was before until Veld crooks his fingers just so and Vincent lets out a surprised moan, hips canting down. He’s not even thinking about Veld’s free hand unbuttoning his shirt, the cool prosthetic of his fingers moving up his torso, tracing over scars to tweak one of his nipples. It makes him moan  _ louder _ and look at Veld hovering above him, a wicked grin lighting up his features. 

“Nice to know I can still find new ways to turn you on.”

Like his cock isn’t hard and leaking against his stomach, throbbing with every push of Veld’s fingers against his prostate. He whines low in his throat, his right hand grabbing at Veld’s shoulder, the left grasping the sheets so tightly he knows he’s going to tear them, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Veld’s mouth captures his tongue probing, licking into his mouth as Vincent slowly starts to shatter under him. That cool, artificial touch moves across, paying mind to the other nipple, before coming to rest over his throat. Not to choke, but possessively touching, so reminiscent of how they used to be. Veld ends up squeezing gently, rhythmically in time with his fingers as another eases into him, and Vincent comes suddenly, breath catching in his throat as he gasps out Veld’s name. 

He can feel his personas surging, fighting for dominance and through his haze he manages to hold them back with a low growl. Veld, to his credit, doesn’t pull away, just carefully pulls his fingers free, wiping them on the sheets.

“We’ll have to change them,” Vincent manages to get out, his voice layered with tones that aren’t his own. All he gets is a laugh in return, as Veld reaches for the lubricant again, squirting more onto his palm and slicking himself up slowly. He kneels between Vincent’s legs, pulling them up around his waist and Vincent can feel the slide of lube against his thigh, knows how it’s going to feel when it’s dried down - with its polymers and glycerin, a seemingly unnatural texture for what seems like such a natural act between them.

The blunt head of Veld’s cock starts to push into him and he tries to relax. Relearns to exhale, to shift his hips up, legs falling apart further as he watches the expressions dance over Veld’s face. Concentration, pleasure, frustration - Vincent knows (biologically) he just wants to fuck him into the bed - flip him onto his hands and knees, take him hard. 

  
The slow burn and drag against his prostate as Veld bottoms out has him scrambling for Veld’s shoulders, thighs coming up, long legs wrapping around his waist.  “Can’t move properly with you clingin’ like that…” Veld doesn’t make him move, just leans down to kiss him and starts rocking into him with slow motions of his hips. It’s altogether too much for his overwrung body, and he can feel his eyes  _ burn _ with what feels like tears pricking the corners of his eyes. His back arches, and he relaxes his legs just enough for Veld to thrust properly. Once. Twice. Vincent’s breath hitches in his throat with a choked cry, and Veld picks up the pace.

  
There is blessed silence in his head for once, his body responding to every push and drop of sweat dripping off Veld. His back arches, and Veld grasps a handful of his hair, yanks it to the side and bites at the exposed skin.

  
Vincent’s world shatters, the sound that comes out of him barely recognizable as his own. Warmth spills between them and dimly, he’s aware of Veld swearing, his thrusting becoming jagged and frantic as he chases his own release. All Vincent can taste is honey and the memory of stale cigarettes in his mouth when Veld kisses him - open mouthed and sloppy, his body a reassuring weight against him.

  
They don’t speak. Veld eventually pulls out and falls onto his back. Vincent immediately curls against his side and Veld wraps an arm around his shoulders, kissing the top of his head.  He knows, this isn’t enough to make up for the years. It’s not going to lessen the heartache down the line, as he watches Veld succumb to his mortality. In this moment, Vincent can only tilt his head up, and capture Veld’s lips with a surprisingly chaste kiss, with the hopes of quelling yet another unspoken demon in his mind.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> you can find me lurking about on twitter: takenbynumbers


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